Day's End
by rapturesrevenge
Summary: ItaSaku, Non-Massacre, AU At the end of the day, all they want is each other. Rated for adult content.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Day's End  
**Universe:** Non-Massacre  
**Pairing:** ItaSaku  
**Rating:** M/NC-17 (whatever floats your boat)  
**Summary:** A birthday gift-fic for the wonderful zelha. Rated M for a reason.

**Disclaimer:**I own nothing.

* * *

There were benefits to working within close proximity of one another.

Provided he wasn't away on one of those solo missions (because, whether anyone liked it or not, he _was_ the top shinobi in the village) and she wasn't busy working a horde of emergency cases, neither had to walk very far at the end of the day to meet when it was time to go home. The best days were the ones where they closed out their workday in the Hokage's office.

Days like that were rather common when he was home. It was therefore safe to say that they'd gotten spoiled.

Luckily for them, today was one of those days. It was especially sweet because he'd just gotten home from a solo reconnaissance mission to Ame. It was only supposed to have taken a month, at least that's what he'd told her.

Damned mission took six months. As he'd given the report to Tsunade-sama, he'd mentioned heavy – and suspicious – traffic in and out of Ame's borders. He still wasn't sure if this traffic had anything to do with the Akatsuki, the omnipresent threat to their village, or if this was something else. That was distressing, but Tsunade-sama let them go. She'd had that look on her face, the one she wore before she stayed up all night reading reports.

Their exit from the office hadn't been hurried. Oh no. The race would truly begin when they were safely outside Hokage Tower. It was a strange game of Tag that they played. One of them had to make it to his room or her apartment – usually the latter due to the relative privacy it offered – without being caught by the other or stopped by someone they knew. The one who got caught or was stopped was the loser.

To the winner went the spoils of war. In this case, the loser's body.

For a long time, she'd always been the one to lose. It wasn't that he always caught her, oh no. She would just get stopped on the street by her teammates, by her girlfriends, anyone and everyone who knew her name. He didn't feel the need to try to catch her when she took the route that always ensured she'd be stopped on the way home. That changed, of course, when she began taking different routes, ones she knew would lessen the chances of being stopped by her friends – including _his brother_ – when she was in a hurry.

He promptly brought to light the fact that she was simply too slow.

It was a lesson she hadn't yet forgotten. That was the first time she'd ever been had out in the woods on his family's property. They'd had sex before, but always indoors, in a room. Whether the surface they went about it on was a couch, a bed, or the floor didn't matter. They'd enjoyed some privacy in the past.

And so she worked on her speed. She was getting better, it was getting harder for him to catch her, but in the end, he always got her.

At least he was gentlemanly enough to scoop her into his arms and sprint toward their destination like a bat out of hell with its ass on fire. He'd given her the most adorably perplexed look when she related the concept to him. The image was still ingrained into her memory, a tattoo on the skin of her mind.

But he wasn't letting her think today. No, no thinking. He was very intent on leaving her unable to think at all. He'd made that his personal mission the instant he got them inside her apartment. It was a miracle that _he_ could think at all, the way his hands trembled.

Uchiha Itachi was a child prodigy of a shinobi, but when it all came down to it, he was also a man. When the right buttons were pushed, as she'd discovered once they were past the clumsy awkwardness of their first time together – which, coincidentally, was the first time either had engaged in such activities – he could come undone in the blink of an eye. That super-intelligent brain of his didn't stand a chance when his body decided it had other ideas. It scared him. Even three years since that first clumsy night together, the thought of his body acting on its own was enough to send him into a slight panic.

She could still feel it in the way his hands moved as they divested her of her clothing, that nervousness he still felt. But that nervousness always gave way to confidence, and the ghosting touches of his fingertips against her naked skin would lose that tremor, the firmer touches of his hands would cease being so hesitant in their gentleness. It was something only she knew, something only she was trusted with, and that made her love him even more. It was proof that this cold and deadly killer did indeed have a vulnerable side. She would protect that.

He backed away when she attempted to remove his clothing. _No,_ he told her without saying a word. The burning look in his eyes as he lowered her onto the bed enforced his unspoken demand that she not touch him in any way until he was done fooling around with her. His expression softened when he saw the irritated look in her eyes. She didn't want to play games tonight.

To her relief, he _did_ remove his clothing. If he'd wanted to be particularly evil, he would've kept it on. He'd definitely missed her far more than he wanted to admit if he was undressing so soon. It was unheard of for her lover to forego torturing her further by keeping his clothes on whilst he reduced her to an incoherent puddle on whatever surface it was they happened to be using.

"I missed you," she choked out, barely able to speak as his lips danced over her collarbone. Self-restraint was already becoming an issue. Her fingers itched to thread themselves through that impossibly-soft hair of his, to caress his skin. However, she would not touch him, though she knew he really wouldn't mind if she did.

"I'm here now," he reminded her as he lifted his head slightly to kiss her jugular. His words were muffled by her skin, sounding more like a hum. She felt her heart skip a beat faster as her breathing became shallower, more rapid, in response to the soft vibration against her neck. He hummed again against her skin again, slowly, oh, so slowly inching his way down her front. The sensation was thrilling and frustrating all at once.

He chuckled at the evident irritation writ into her features. "Patience, Sakura. Patience." His tone was as teasing as his tongue and hands. As if to prolong the torture, he softly kissed the tops of her breasts, giving and yet denying her what she wanted. This went on for what seemed an eternity, until she finally gave in and tangled her fingers in his hair, undoing his ponytail in the process.

Just as she thought, he didn't mind that she'd broken his unspoken rule this time around. Rather than object, he returned to her lips, kissing her slowly, softly, letting his hands do all the work. She moaned into the kiss when he _finally_ massaged one of her breasts, his other hand drifting down, down. The moan changed into a strangled growl – something she knew he found rather endearing, as well as amusing – when he brought that wandering hand back to caress the skin under the other breast.

He left her mouth to trail kisses along her jaw line, down her neck, over her collarbone, down, down. The hand that had previously occupied itself with teasing her breasts moved to the side, bearing most of his weight so that he would not crush her.

She gasped, both from surprise and relief as he teased first one nipple and then the other with his tongue and teeth while simultaneously probing her center with that decidedly evil hand. "Kami, Itachi," she whimpered, arching her back. "Just get it over with."

A deep, rumbling chuckle that could also have doubled as a sort of growl sounded within his chest. "You first, Sa-ku-ra," he panted. The feel of his hot breath over the moistened skin of her breast only served to make her squirm even more. She was vaguely aware of his lower body lifting off hers and his knee being inserted between her thighs.

There was no room for conscientious thought now. He'd succeeded in reducing her to little more than a moaning, incoherent mess, just as he'd intended right from the start. He felt rather proud of himself, knowing that he was the one to do it. But he wasn't done yet.

Fueled by her delicious moans and his own throbbing desire, he ran a finger over her center before inserting it into her body. A second finger joined it, then a third. He saw the way she winced, unused to the intrusion, and he would have waited as patiently as possible until she relaxed, but she sighed before he could finish the thought. Instead, he started thrusting with his fingers, slowly at first, then faster as his partner's cries grew louder, her breathing faster.

She came undone with a soft scream, which he swallowed with a bruising kiss. In his eagerness, he didn't give her a chance to recover. He'd taken care of her first, which was the sole reason he refused to lose their game of Tag. Of course, he felt a special sort of pleasure in doing what he did to her, in watching her as he pressed her buttons. Being a man, however, he did have ulterior motives. It was now time to satisfy himself.

Holding to a vow of abstinence for six months did little for his self-control. All he had left was primal instinct.

Positioning his lower body between her legs, he slid inside quickly to the combined sound of their mutual appreciation. The rhythm he established soon after was as natural to them both as breathing. Nothing mattered. Nothing but the woman beneath him existed as he drove them both into sweet oblivion.

It was as if time itself shattered when, at long last, they found their release. What little energy he had left was used to collapse beside her, rather than on top of her. All was silent in the bedroom save for their panting breaths for a long moment.

There wouldn't be a second round tonight. He didn't want to spend his first night home in six months engaging in pleasurable premarital activities. No, he was too tired to continue. He also just wanted to _hold_ her, and while he could do that and busy himself with her body, it just wasn't the same. And so, without withdrawing, he rolled them over so they were laying on their sides, still facing each other. He felt himself melt a little as she sighed contentedly against his chest. "Would you prefer to sleep now, or shower first?" He asked her, blinking as he realized just how hoarse his voice was. He couldn't remember making any noise.

Her breathing was so deep and relaxed, he initially thought her to be asleep until she hummed softly in consideration. "Shower, then sleep. You smell."

He snorted lightly. Evidently the quick shower he'd taken at an inn located halfway between Ame and home had done little in the way of making him _smell_ clean. "I would like to point out that I did shower on the way home." As reluctant as he was to leave his spot on the bed, he withdrew and raised himself off the comforter. He then helped her up, following her to the bathroom.

It was good to be home.


	2. Chapter 2

**rapture has moved!**

Dear Readers,

In light of the recent vigilante movement here on , I have decided to relocate. These vigilantes seek to report and delete poorly-written stories and stories with questionable (mature) content. As some of my stories do contain explicit content, I would rather relocate than risk my stories being deleted by some pro-censorship fascist pig, or risk being banned.

You can now find me at archiveofourown [dot] org [slash] users [slash] rapturesrevenge. Everything, from story updates to new fics, will be posted here.

Archive of Our Own (AO3) is currently in beta. As of now, the only way to join is via invite. I signed up for an invite in October and received my invitation to join the site in December. So far, I really like the site. Should you choose to sign up for an invite, I hope you will like it, too.

This story, whether it is a oneshot or part of a multi-chapter fic, will remain here, untouched. Should the vigilante movement be found pointless and brought to an end, I might consider returning. Until then, I bed you all farewell, and I hope to see you again at AO3.

Yours,

rapture


End file.
